


It's Half-Past Four (and I'm Shifting Gear)

by hurry_sundown



Series: The GTO 'verse [1]
Category: due South
Genre: Challenge Response, F/M, GTO 'verse, M/M, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 07:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurry_sundown/pseuds/hurry_sundown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I took the wallet from his hand and peered at the ID card.  "Detective Raymond Vecchio," I read out loud.  "Vecchio?  You don't look Italian."</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Half-Past Four (and I'm Shifting Gear)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta and confidence-building by spuffyduds *hearts*. I swiped the title from Golden Earring's "Radar Love," and a little snip of Fraser's dialogue from "The Wild Bunch." While I don't know jack about the particular GTO used on dS, the couple of mechanical details I threw in are accurate about the '67 GTO in general. First published March 2, 2008, as part of a self-insertion challenge on LiveJournal.

"Oh, wow."

I didn't know whether to salivate or genuflect. A 1967 Pontiac GTO. _Uno Gran Turismo Omologato._ In other words, a Goat. Black as night, and glossy as an 8x10 headshot. What? Look, you either like this sort of thing or you don't, and me? Me _likee._

"You got good taste."

The guy leaning up against the quarter panel was kind of "Oh, wow" himself. Maybe six feet tall and wiry, blue eyes and a sweet smile, blond (which I don't usually go for), and giving off a major bad-boy vibe (which I do). It could've had something to do with the way he was dressed - shirt unbuttoned over a black T, faded jeans, shit-kicker boots. Or maybe it was the hair - blond, like I said, and spiked up, begging for somebody to mess it up even more. Most likely, though, it was the shoulder rig he was wearing under his left arm. Fuck.

I nodded. "Is she yours?" Be nice to the man with the gun, sweetie.

"Every bit," he said, patting the trunk lid fondly. "Built her from the wheels up." He ducked his head. "Well, me and my dad did."

Do thugs have dads? Do they build cars with them? "Is she as pretty under the hood?" Self-preservation was losing ground to car lust.

"See for yourself," he said, coming over to pop the hood.

"Nice, the high-output V-8 ... that must've cost you." I stepped a little closer. "You got a six-pack on there? I thought the '67 had a four-barrel."

Blondie shook his head. "It was a rebuild, not a restoration. Besides, it makes a big difference."

"I'll bet." I leaned up under the hood to see better. "That's not the factory Ram-air kit, either."

"That one had weather issues. This one, though," he said, stroking the air-intake lovingly, "this one works just fine."

Even without any tweaks, a car like this would've torn up the pavement. "Damn, this baby must fly."

"Hey, hey, no drooling on the radiator." He scuffed the sidewalk with the toe of his boot. "So, uh, look, I got some time to kill. You wanna go for a ride?"

"Oh sure, 'Want some candy, little girl?'" I shook my head. "Not even if you _weren't_ strapped." And fuck again, that was not the smartest thing to have mentioned.

He grinned, and flipped back one side of his shirt so I could see the shield clipped to his belt. "Chicago PD."

Maybe so, maybe no. "They don't look like that where I come from. You got an ID to go with that thing?"

"Maybe. Where're you from?" He reached into his back pocket.

"DC," I said.

"Yeah? I hear DC's nice this time of year. What brings you to Chicago?"

"Business trip," I said, and made a "c'mon, c'mon" gesture with my hand.

He pulled out his credentials and flipped open the cover. "Satisfied?"

I took the wallet from his hand and peered at the ID card. "Detective Raymond Vecchio," I read out loud. "Vecchio? You don't look Italian."

"We're from the north. So, whaddya say? A little cruise up Lakeshore?"

I handed the ID back to him. "Yeah, why not."

"Great. Let's go." He dropped the hood and walked around to open the door for me.

We hit Lakeshore for the speed, then rambled around a while. Ray turned out to be a pretty interesting guy, and not just for the car. I got a whole discourse on the ethnic neighborhoods of Chicago, the virtues of ballroom dancing, and the Cubs' prospects for the season.

We were almost back where we started when Ray said, "Hey, that's my partner over there." He pulled to the curb across the street from a hotdog cart and rolled down his window.

Partner? I was glad I hadn't made too obvious with the flirting. That would have been a whole new level of embarassment.

"Yo, Fraser!" There was a guy standing by the hotdog cart, apparently deep in conversation with a dog. When Ray called out, he straightened up and looked over. Jesus. I might've been thinking this Fraser guy was lucky, but it seemed like the luck ran both ways. Fraser was _gorgeous._

I heard him tell the dog to stay, then he crossed the street to where Ray and I were getting out of the car.

If Ray hadn't said they were partners, I don't know what I would've thought. They looked awfully happy to see each other, and while Ray was making the introductions, they stood kind of close, and then there was, well, the eye contact. Maybe somebody else wouldn't have noticed. I sure as hell did.

I tried for some small talk. "That's a pretty dog. Is he yours, Fraser?"

"He's a wolf, actually. Well, a half-wolf. And I wouldn't describe him as mine, exactly - he did come to live with me of his own free will, after all ..."

Odd would've been an understatement. Just then, a commotion erupted at the hot dog cart.

"Oh, dear! If you'll excuse me - Diefenbaker, no!" Fraser barely looked both ways before darting across the street.

Ray shook his head. "You'd think he'd know better by now."

I wasn't sure if he meant Fraser or the wolf, or maybe the hot dog vendor. "Fraser seems like a nice guy," I ventured.

"Yeah, he is. Kind of freaky to work with sometimes, but we make a good team."

Work with? Team? Oh, man. (I'm stupid, okay?)

"What?" Ray kind of raised an eyebrow at me. Those detective boys, they don't miss much.

I shrugged. "Nothing. It's just, when you said he was your partner, I thought you meant something else."

Ray frowned. "Something else ...? Oh, hey no," he said. "Partner like cops, y'know?"

"Yeah. _Now_ I know. Although ..." I hesitated. But what was he gonna do, arrest me? "You should have seen yourself. When Fraser walked over, your whole face lit up."

Ray made a dismissive gesture. "Nah ... I mean, me and Frase, we're buddies, but not ... I mean, we're not like that."

"Huh," said the woman with no tact. "Maybe you should be."

Ray opened his mouth, but no words came out. I figured that was my cue to exit, stage left.

"Thanks for the ride, Ray." I fished a business card out of my bag and stuck it in his hand. "You ever get to DC, look me up." I started to walk away, then turned around to wave.

Ray was still standing there, but wasn't looking my way anymore. He was looking across the street to where Fraser was collecting his wolf. And damned if he wasn't all lit up again.


End file.
